


Red, White, and Blue

by mageswagger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, hanzo is embarrassed by USA McCree, what the fuck blizzard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageswagger/pseuds/mageswagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo never realized McCree cared so much about the Fourth of July.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red, White, and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this holy fuck blizzard http://arcanebarrage.tumblr.com/post/148359983207/blackwatch-mccree-cdlum-holy-fuck-blizzard

## Red, White, and Blue

Hanzo had never been to America save for once before, very early on in his association with Overwatch when they had a mission to eliminate some common thugs attempting to revitalize the Deadlock gang from the pages of history. Most of his knowledge came from the internet, which was a questionable collection of information at best, and from stereotypes. McCree, of course, had attempted to challenge some of those stereotypes - but most only seemed to cement the idea that Americans were completely insane in the Shimada heir’s mind.

The Gibraltar base was quiet when he woke that July morning and Hanzo made his way to the kitchen to make himself breakfast. He set a kettle on the stove and let it do its work while he fished out some fresh tea from the cabinets, which had turned to disarray since last he attempted to organize it.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted his tea, nestled onto the top shelf. Mocking him. Reminding him that in comparison to many on the team, he was short - even though he was statistically entirely average in height.

Undeterred, he got onto his tip toes and his fingers barely brushed the ledge. He gave a little jump, and scowled when his fingers instead knocked the tin further back into the cabinet. He was about to give another jump - feeling entirely ridiculous all the while - when a familiar prosthetic arm passed him and grabbed the tin. But why was it red-?

“Lookin’ for this, darlin’?” McCree asked.

“Yes,” Hanzo responded, tone clipped and aggravated. He accepted the tin and turned to thank McCree properly.

All he saw was red, white, and blue. His brow furrowed and he stared intently at McCree as the man flashed a grin and walked over to the fridge, clearly planning on saying nothing about the American flag he had wrapped around his shoulders.

“Jesse.”

McCree glanced over his shoulder, brow raised as he grabbed a carton of eggs. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“Why are you wearing a flag.”

“What, this?” He asked, plucking at the flag. He turned around. Hanzo’s brows furrowed further, staring at the belt buckle that was all wrong. He mouthed the letters ‘USA’, surprised that he already missed the familiar and far less embarrassing ‘BAMF’. “Don’t you know what day it is?”

“It is not Halloween yet,” Hanzo said. His gaze finally lifted and zeroed in on his shirt. “...are you wearing plaid?”

“C’mon Hanzo, it’s the Fourth of July!” he said. “Independence Day! For America, at least.” He gave his flag a little flap, as if that forgave everything.

“We are not in America,” Hanzo said. “We are in Spain.”

“Well, don’t hafta be in America to have a little national pride,” McCree said, undaunted. Hanzo’s brow twitched. Even his chestplate...

“Are you going out dressed like that?” he asked.

“Sure am. Why wouldn’t I?” McCree asked it as if he sincerely had no idea what, exactly, was wrong with this picture. Hanzo was suddenly considering hiding any and all connection to the man, regardless of whether or not they were friends.

“You are embarrassing,” Hanzo said bluntly. “And you will draw unwanted attention.”

“C’mon, darlin’, it’s not like people aren’t starin’ at you whenever you walk around in your clothes,” he said - which was, actually, a fair point. But Hanzo’s clothing was traditional - his clothing was subtly colored and not a neon sign proclaiming far too much information. “Don’t be a downer. I got Winston to agree to let me set off some fireworks tonight. Everyone’s invited. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know you,” Hanzo determined, turning back to make his tea. “If anyone asks, I have never met you. You are a stranger.”

McCree stepped forward and placed a hand on Hanzo’s waist. Hanzo fought down the urge to stomp on his foot, despite the fondness that burned in his chest. Traitor heart. “Come on, darlin’. Just one day. It’ll be fun. You can make fun of me all you want and I wont even be mad. Just come, set off a few fireworks tonight, enjoy the show.”

Closing his eyes, Hanzo gave a slow exhale and counted backwards from ten. Where was his restraint? It was harder to deny him when he wasn’t having a staring contest with all fifty stars strapped across his shoulders.

“...fine.”

Grinning, McCree pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s cheek. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

The cowboy moved back, finishing fetching the makings for breakfast while Hanzo glared down at his tea. But still, despite himself, a small smile curled at the corner of his lips.

McCree was an embarrassment - but he was still McCree. Hanzo already made many allowances for him that he didn’t make for many. What was one more?

Tracer slid into the room in a blue streak, spotted McCree, and the duo got into a chanting frenzy, repeating ‘USA!’ and pumping their fists. 

Hanzo seriously considered changing his mind.


End file.
